Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (14 page)

How could Miss Claybourn’s own father not see where the danger lay?

Glancing at that lovely face with its full, drooping mouth, he felt a sudden, urgent need to protect her. She was undoubtedly high-spirited and possibly more than a little indulged by her father, but in many other ways she seemed to be an exemplary young woman. In fact, Johanna Claybourn was rather like his sisters in nature, particularly Millie, with her headstrong desire to do anything and everything a male could do. Miss Claybourn was not quite so impetuous – or unrealistic – but there were certainly elements they had in common. He found he wanted to take her small hand in his and give it a reassuring squeeze, just so she would know she was not alone in this. He would help her deal with her unwelcome suitor.

After dinner Mrs. Gordon consented to play the pianoforte at the insistent urging of Sir Antony.

‘You sing like a nightingale, my dear. Won’t you indulge me?’

‘Only if you stand by to turn the pages for me,’ she replied, giving the man an arch look. Marcus raised an eyebrow and shot a sidelong glance at Miss Claybourn whose full lips were compressed. Sir Antony’s interest in the woman
was
unfortunate. He suspected that Mordern and his sister were a pair of adventurers who had come to Cloverton Hall specifically to secure a wealthy match. While there was no doubt Miss Claybourn was a complete stunner, he had met enough men of Mordern’s ilk to recognize a sharp when he saw one. His lordship was clearly intent on securing Miss Claybourn’s interest but what the devil was the sister after? Was she trying to charm Sir Antony for a specific reason or was it just how the lady managed men? He had caught more than one interested glance in his direction, when the lady had been sure nobody was looking.

When Miss Claybourn excused herself after the pianoforte recital, claiming a headache and begging that she be excused, Marcus found himself relaxing a little. Perhaps it was time to find out a little more about his fellow guests. When Sir Antony went to fetch Mrs. Gordon a cooling beverage, Marcus went across to sit by the lady.

‘You sing very well,’ he observed with a smile.

She gave him a smile, a wicked one that was reflected in her blue eyes. ‘Why thank you,’ she purred. ‘I do love to sing.’

‘Gordon…’ Marcus mused. ‘Was your late husband Scottish, perhaps?’

‘He was. He had a ghastly castle in Mull that was impossible to heat. It rained for the better part of the year.’

‘I see. And did your husband catch cold and die in this draughty place?’ he inquired lightly.

‘Dear me no, although that would have been apt, I suppose,’ she gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Actually he fell into a loch and drowned when fishing. He was very fond of fishing.’

‘How unfortunate.’

There was a small, indifferent shrug. ‘Unfortunate for him, perhaps. Not so much for me. I know I must sound heartless, Lord Hathaway but it is no fun, spending one’s life in a frigid, remote pile of stones while one’s husband obsesses about salmon and sunlight occurs but rarely. I admit, I was happy to leave the place.’ She tilted her head, expression arch. ‘Do you think me very dreadful?’

‘Not at all,’ he returned. ‘Frankly, it would be hard to imagine a more inappropriate setting for you, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘I don’t mind at all,’ she murmured, but said no more as Sir Antony had returned with a chilled glass of champagne at this point and was offering it eagerly.

After another half an hour, Marcus excused himself, saying it had been a long day but instead of retiring to his bedchamber, he decided to take a walk in the grounds. It was cool but the air smelled delightfully of springtime flowers and he strolled along, enjoying the silence. A man easily got used to the silence and a night spent in social conversation had been more difficult than he had imagined it would be. He was well and truly out of practice.

Perhaps I am destined for a life as a hermit
, he mused, strolling along the garden borders that had been laid out and planted with perennials for the coming season.
Perhaps I should eschew sociability and live out my days in quiet contemplation. If only I were inclined towards religion I could bury myself in a likely abbey somewhere and all my problems would be solved.
He grinned when he thought of how his family would take such a suggestion. It would not solve his need for a wife and heir. It was damned inconvenient of his parents to have produced only one son. They had managed three daughters without any problem. Why the devil couldn’t they have popped out a spare while they were at it?

He had walked all the way to the stone boundary that separated the garden from the fields beyond when he heard a rustling sound coming from somewhere close by. Stopping, Marcus looked up and found a pair of legs hanging from a tree that overhung the wall. A body followed on and a figure dropped down to the ground only two feet away from Marcus. He raised an eyebrow and wondered what the devil was happening now.

The young man, for there was more than enough moonlight to make out the fellow, rose to his feet, dusted himself off and then turned around. At the sight of Marcus, standing almost directly in front of him, he jumped like a startled gazelle and uttered a curse.

‘Quite,’ Marcus agreed mildly. ‘And you are?’

There was a pause. Clearly the young gentleman was trying to adapt to this unexpected change in his evening plans. After a moment he cleared his throat. ‘I say! I mean… I had not thought to… to find anybody out and about.’

‘I daresay,’ Marcus agreed amiably. ‘May I ask why you climbed over that wall? Such stealth does seem to suggest that you shouldn’t be here.’ Although he had no doubt that the fellow was a gentleman. In fact, even in the pallid moonlight he reminded Marcus irretrievably of young Mr. Esk and Mr. Ballantine.

‘I am known to the family,’ the new arrival assured him quickly. ‘I just –’ he paused, clearly trying to come up with a credible reason for arriving in such an unconventional manner.

‘Something to do with Miss Claybourn, is it?’ Marcus inquired, eager to move things along. He was beginning to suspect that this was another of her suitors, come to do something tiresome and ridiculous. He was quite correct.

‘Yes. That is to say…’ he thought he heard a gulp. ‘I have something I wish to give to Miss Claybourn.’

‘At this time of night?’ Marcus inquired incredulously. ‘I do hope you had nothing inappropriate in mind. Miss Claybourn has retired for the evening.’

‘Oh
no
,’ the gentleman gasped, clearly horrified at the very idea that he might be thought of doing something inappropriate. ‘I would never… that is to say…’ He pulled up, so tangled up in his words that he was unable to get a coherent sentence out. He took a deep breath. ‘I would never do anything to discommode Miss Claybourn,’ he announced with considerable dignity. ‘I merely wished to leave a small token for her. So that she might find it in the morning.’

‘You climbed a wall to leave a token?’ You do realize that there is a perfectly good gate not three hundred feet away, don’t you?’

‘I didn’t want to run into Clavers,’ the young fellow muttered. ‘He makes a devil of a fuss if he finds any of us in the grounds. We… we trample his flowers. Or so he
says
.’

Marcus’ lips twitched. What was it about Miss Claybourn’s admirers that made him think of overgrown puppies? ‘May I ask your name, Sir?’

‘Arnold Warrington,’ his companion muttered. ‘I live just across the way and I can assure you, I know the family very well.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Would you like me to leave your – ah – token somewhere Miss Claybourn will find it in the morning?’ It seemed rather hard on the lad to make him leave without completing his mission.

‘Well…’ Mr. Warrington seemed to consider this for a few moments, before nodding. ‘Yes, all right. It would be just my luck that old stickler Harmon will catch me and then I suppose there’ll be a devil of a dust up.’ Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small box. He hesitated, peering at Marcus doubtfully. ‘You
will
make sure she gets it, won’t you?’

‘Rest assured, she shall have it in the morning.’

‘Thank you.’ The boy passed him the precious package that had been carefully tied with a ribbon and cast a look towards the house. ‘Isn’t she the most wonderful creature you have ever seen?’ he inquired, voice wistful.

‘Very nice,’ Marcus agreed, thinking that Miss Claybourn was a great deal more than that but unwilling to expand on the subject. He wondered how many young hopefuls were sniffing around. This was the third he had encountered that day. Surely there couldn’t be many more? How many young men had the area produced? ‘I did notice earlier when I was about that there is a small gate just a little further along. If you would care to let yourself out that way I can lock it after you. Save you going past the gatehouse.’

‘Decent of you,’ Mr. Warrington said, sounding a little more cheerful.

They walked along to where the gate stood. As Marcus had observed earlier, it was locked on the inside. He opened it and inclined his head to his companion. ‘Good evening, then.’

‘Good evening,’ Mr. Warrington returned, then slipped through the gate and set off. Marcus could hear him whistling rather tunelessly as he went and shook his head.

‘He didn’t even ask who I was,’ he marveled, glancing down at the small package. A small token… Good God! Miss Claybourn had said that her suitors got up to all manner of things but he had not realized it was quite so crowded. He had seen no less than three of her young hopefuls in one day.

Slipping the package into his pocket, he made his way back towards the house. He would undoubtedly need his wits about him if he were ever going to escape from this peculiar household. With any luck he could catch Mordern out in something unsavory on the morrow, have him properly reviled and they could both be on their way, he to continue his journey, Mordern to begin his hunt afresh for a likely heiress. Marcus could not say he wished him well in his endeavors, but at least he would be away from here. And the further he was from Johanna Claybourn, the better the girl’s chances of finding a decent match.

Perhaps he was all kinds of a fool, for taking on such a doubtful task. Some would say that Miss Claybourn’s future was nobody’s business but her father’s. While this was no doubt true, there was no doubt in his mind he would be unable to leave now.

It was some comfort to know, however that Millie, at the very least, would be proud of his audacious interference.

Chapter Five

Johanna felt much more the thing when she awoke the following morning. She briefly considered the problem of her father and the irksome Mrs. Gordon, before dismissing it. She would discuss the issue with her grandmother and together, they would find a way to let Papa know that his alluring female guest was not the woman he thought her to be. Perhaps, Johanna reflected ruefully, it was time for her father to get out more. A Season in London might do him good for obviously he was feeling lonesome and it wasn’t that Johanna wanted her father to be unhappy. It was just that Mrs. Gordon was the last woman she would want to call Step-Mama.

The new day brought new possibilities and she cursed herself for letting the opportunity of learning more about Marcus Hathaway slip through her fingers the evening before. She should have found a way to be alone with him. Heaven knows, her father was not the most attentive chaperone and there was much to be said for her grandmother retiring from the scene early, for it meant that Johanna was not so overlooked as many young ladies might be. She thought back to her meeting with his lordship, the confident way he had disarmed the would be bandits, the strong hand he had held out to her as she sprawled in the mud and a little shiver went through her. Johanna was not at all averse to a little gentle flirtation, if the male and the moment were in harmony. She was used to all manner of fellows dancing attendance on her at the assemblies and dances they went to and, whilst she was circumspect she had yielded on several occasions to some minor, inoffensive lovemaking. What girl had not? It had been pleasant but hardly enough to make her want to repeat the experiment any time soon.

But a little inoffensive lovemaking with Lord Hathaway might be a very different proposition. She could recall all too clearly that well shaped mouth and once again, pondered how it might feel, pressed against her own. His apparent indifference to her charms was a nuisance, of course but in the new light of morning she was confident that she could overcome this obstacle. All she wanted was a kiss, after all. A kiss from a traveling stranger. The very idea thrilled her. Any number of her local swains would give much to be granted a kiss while Lord Mordern, she suspected, would not want to stop at just a kiss. She did not want to kiss
any
of them. 

Lord Hathaway was an entirely different matter.

Johanna smiled to herself, considering the situation. A nice girl did not plot how she might set about stealing a kiss from a man – or so she had been led to believe – but she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she was probably
not
a nice girl. She was not wicked, no. She valued her virtue almost as highly as Polite Society did. But one kiss would not make her a fallen woman although two kisses from the right man, she suspected, might help send her on her way to perdition. If she wanted such attention from the object of these pleasurable speculations she knew she would have to go after them herself. He was clearly entirely chivalrous. Cursed gallant, in fact. It was up to her to discover just how far that gallantry extended for in truth, she would be extremely vexed with herself if she didn’t, at least, give the possibility of eliciting a kiss from Lord Hathaway her best efforts.

With this in mind, she approached her toilette with unusual diligence, eager to set the day in motion. Her maid, an amiable girl named Florence, presented dress after dress and Johanna dithered in the most unusual way. She liked clothing as much as the next person but was usually quick to make up her mind. She finally settled on a Cerulean blue cambric with inserts of Brussels lace in the sleeves and bodice. The color looked very well on her, or so said her dressmaker. Florence caught up some of her thick, silvery locks but left several long curls to fall over her shoulder. Her maid seemed relieved when no further alterations to the final outcome was required. Johanna knew poor Florence was bewildered by the morning’s display of girlish indecision and smiled ruefully. Lord Hathaway, did he but know it, had a lot to answer for.

In the breakfast room she was delighted to find that the only other guest was the man himself. She had entered so quietly that he wasn’t aware that she was there and she took a moment to survey him, wondering if the previous day’s impressions had been brought about by an excess of high spirits and circumstance. Being rescued from would be bandits was enough to put ideas into any girl’s head but she was relieved to see that, in the morning light, he was just as attractive as she remembered. He was holding a cup in one hand, staring out the long windows at the garden beyond. Johanna felt a happy smile curve her lips and raised her chin.

‘Good morning, Lord Hathaway.’ She said, moving forward to take a seat at the table. A footman, well used to her preferences, came forward to pour coffee. He looked at his lordship who gave a smiling nod, holding out his cup. ‘I trust you slept well?’

‘Very much so. And you? Is your headache better?’

‘All gone,’ she admitted.

‘Before I forget… I have something for you,’ he said, digging in his pocket. He pushed a small parcel towards her and she looked at him in bewilderment. Surely he was not giving her a present so soon into their acquaintance. Catching her confusion, he gave a rueful smile. ‘From one of your admirers. I promised I’d deliver it.’

‘One of my… good heavens, which one?’ Johanna demanded, eyeing the parcel warily. She had told all of her admirers not to give her things. She had told them so on numerous occasions.

‘A Mr. Arnold Warrington.’

‘Arnold,’ she muttered, reluctantly unwrapping the little parcel that had been artfully covered with cloth of gold, of all things. Inside was a leather box and in that, a very beautiful golden heart. She sighed. ‘What a wretched creature he is.’

‘Not the most appreciative comment I’ve ever heard.’

Johanna glanced at him. ‘I shall have to return it. It probably belongs to poor Mrs. Warrington. Arnold is forever taking her jewelry in the mistaken belief that she has so much she will not miss the occasional piece. It is really an awful nuisance.’

‘Perhaps he bought it out of his own money.’

‘Arnold gets an allowance which he immediately spends on ridiculous jackets. His greatest desire is to emulate Mr. Brummell.’

‘As he climbed over the garden wall last night, I cannot help but feel he is not following in the footsteps of his idol. Mr. Brummell would never imperil his breeches in such a way.’

Her lips quivered at this. ‘Over the garden wall? Whatever for?’

‘I believe he had no desire to catch the attention of the gardener.’

‘How extraordinary,’ she murmured, replacing the pretty golden heart in its box and closing it. She would have to ensure it was returned to Mrs. Warrington as soon as possible or the poor woman would think that thieves were at work again and demand to see the magistrate as she had done when the pearl earrings her son had so generously bestowed on Johanna last month had been missed.

‘You weren’t exaggerating, were you?’ he said wryly. ‘Just how many young fellows
are
there after you? I think I should be prepared.’

She grinned at this for he had a point. He had encountered three so far and must be thinking that there was a veritable host of them lurking about the place.

‘Only one more. You’ve met Mr. Esk, Mr. Ballantine and Mr. Warrington. There remains only Percy Duffy who, I have to say, is quite possibly the worst of them all and not just because his father is a lord. The others are silly, of course but Percy writes poetry and has convinced himself that we are star-crossed lovers. No matter how many times I have pointed out to him that, if we were star-crossed lovers
I
would surely know of it, he cannot be dissuaded.’

Lord Hathaway paused for a moment and she had the impression he was getting his voice under control. There was no doubt his eyes were alight with amusement. ‘And here I was thinking life in the country was dull!’

‘Well you may laugh,’ she said, without rancor. ‘But all this hopeless passion is extremely tiresome. I cannot wait for the new term to start.’

‘So I should imagine.’

Rising, Johanna went across and selected some food from the warming pans on the sideboard. She was rather surprised to see that her father was absent but not displeased. It gave her an opportunity she might not have otherwise had. Returning to the table, she gave her companion a thoughtful look.

‘Lord Mordern said that you had been in the war in France?’ she began carefully, focusing on cutting up one of the mushrooms on her plate.

‘I was, yes.’ There was very little inflection to the words but she sensed a sudden wariness. Clearly he was reluctant to discuss the matter.

‘When did you return?’

‘Six months ago.’

‘Your family must have been delighted to have you back,’ she observed, wondering how much she dare say. She knew that he had a family because he had mentioned his sister to her on the previous day so surely this was safe enough.

‘They were,’ he allowed. ‘It was an enormous relief to them. You cannot know, when you are gone, what an impact your absence has on those who care for you.’

‘And yet you have taken to traveling?’ she said, voice light.

He was silent for a moment, then gave a shrug. ‘So I did.’

Nothing else was forthcoming. It was daunting, Johanna admitted but she had every intention of persevering. She was not used to failure. Indeed, there was rarely a time that she did not get her own way. Her grandmother had always assured her that determination took one anywhere in life and Johanna had had no reason to doubt her so far.

She looked at him squarely into his blue eyes. ‘Why do you not wish to discuss the past? Is it painful, in some way? Not,’ she added quickly, when a frown began to form on his brow, ‘that I am trying to pry about what happened to you in France. I’m sure it must have been terrible, being wounded and… and…’

‘I don’t like to discuss the past.’ The words were uttered with a finality that indicated the subject was closed.

‘Yes, I’ve noticed that,’ she allowed. ‘But -’ She hesitated, uncertain how to put what she wanted to say.

‘But you want to know and that should suffice?’ he suggested wryly.

She wanted to protest that there was more to her inquiries than simple curiosity. That she wished to know more about him. That a lord wandering the byways of England without any particular purpose might be expected to be a subject of interest, especially when very little of interest actually happened in her quietly uneventful life. But really, he was quite right; it
did
all come down to curiosity.

She pushed her plate away. ‘Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?’

She had the satisfaction of seeing him slightly taken aback. He had expected something else. ‘Should you not have a chaperone?’

Johanna gave a small snort. She had once had a chaperone, a poor spirited creature whom her father had decided might curb his high spirited daughter. Miss Flintock had been very religious and had spent a great deal of time in church, undoubtedly praying for guidance on how to manage a girl she despaired of. Johanna had not accompanied her because, while church was all very well on a Sunday, once a week in a cold, draughty building was more than enough. She did not know who had been more surprised when pale, pallid Miss Flintock had run away with the curate, a married man who had left a very indignant wife behind. Papa had been so demoralized by his choice of female guardian that it had been easy to dissuade him not to replace the woman.

‘Here at Cloverton Hall? Hardly. There are undergardeners and maids and footmen and heaven only knows what else. The place is so dreadfully busy I would be lucky to sneak so much as a kiss among the roses.’

‘Are you speaking from experience?’ he inquired blandly.

She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Just observation, but if you wish to put it to the test…’ He looked so startled by this suggestion that she laughed. ‘Dear me, my lord, have I made you blush? Do not be frightened. Your virtue is safe with me.’

He eyed her indignantly. ‘So you say but I’m beginning to think you are something of a hoyden, Miss Claybourn!’

She laughed again and rose to her feet, holding out her hand to him. ‘Come along. If you are in difficulties, you may call for one of the gardeners to come to your assistance.’

He gave her a long look but took her hand and rose to his feet. He released her immediately. ‘I had the impression yesterday that you are very much used to having your own way. Was that impression correct?’